


Like a Fine Wine

by dassala



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 08:32:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13830402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dassala/pseuds/dassala
Summary: Several years after the events of 7x02, Emma takes a moment to appreciate how well her husband is aging.





	Like a Fine Wine

**Author's Note:**

> For my Hubettes who appreciate a man of a certain age.

Most men of a certain age were inclined to reach for a bottle of dye or a shorter cut to mask the evidence of their maturity. Killian Jones, however, seemed to welcome the signs of aging and wear them proudly. The whispy greys in the swoop of hair across his forehead had come shortly after little Liam was born. On mornings when she was miraculously awake before her husband, Emma counted the ratio of ruddy brown to soft white hairs across his chin and blade-sharp jawline. The years and the curses and the realm jumping had finally given over to the paler whiskers.  


Emma wasn’t without her own symptoms of age, to be certain. She found areas where her skin seemed to be thinning and had turned crepey. Her once-firm and supple cheeks had a bit more give to them. Creases formed around her eyes when she laughed - a sure sign of true happiness throughout the years. When she leaned over the bathroom sink with a pair of tweezers, it wasn’t uncommon for her to pluck a couple of silvery-white strands from her hairline.  


Despite getting on in age, with Henry having a family of his own and little Liam going off to primary school, Mr. and Mrs. Jones had no lack of passion for one another. Their love life had always been lit with a deep, burning desire. Whether it was a spark of inspiration while making breakfast or just an opportune moment when Liam was at soccer practice, the pair wasted no time in professing their love for one another, in words or with physical demonstration.  


Sheriff Swan-Jones tapped her pen idly on her desk top, watching him across the room. Her husband and deputy was leaned back in his chair with a file open in his hand. His hook arm rested upon his desk, as did his feet. She smirked, her eyes scanning down along the line of his torso beneath the black waistcoat which seemed to be a permanent part of his wardrobe. Rarely was he without such formal attire.   


“Sheriff,” Killian muttered, “must you eye me in such a lascivious manner whilst we’re at work?”  


Observation on point, as usual. Pursing her lips, Emma pushed away from her desk and wandered out of the glass cubicle that was her office. “Are you really objecting?” She stepped to the exterior door and flipped the deadbolt, reaching up to draw the shade over the small window. Such privacy provisions had been made after one-too-many interruptions in the office over the years.  


He closed the manila folder and placed it to the side, leaning forward to place his feet firmly on the ground. “No, not really,” he grinned and watched his wife casually disable the security camera. It was a routine, practiced every time the office became a bit too dull.  


Emma turned to her husband, drinking in the sight of him. He was long and lean, accentuated by the slim black lines of his outfit. Taking a deep breath, she sauntered slowly in his direction. Sixteen years of marriage, and she never tired of that smirk. His eyes creased as it spread into a grin, the right eyebrow raising to an impossible height.  


“Have I ever told you,” she asked, stopping in front of him and lifting her hands to slowly unfasten the buttons on her blouse, “how well you’re aging?”  


“About time, I wager,” he replied, allowing his eyes to wander from her face down to the work of her nimble fingers.   


She laughed, her shirt falling open as she bent forward to give him a view of her cleavage. “Well then,” she licked her supple lips, “allow me to tell you.”  


Reaching up with both hands, she slid her fingers into his hair. Always thick and full, she loved the silky feel of it, and combed through it often. “You’re greying here,” she whispered, “at the temples and right along the top.”  


“I think you can thank our sons for most of that,” he muttered.  


“Shh,” she admonished him, getting to her knees in front of his chair. She dragged her hands down the sides of his neck, fingernails clacking against the chain he wore every day. “I love this. The way the little white hairs are starting to show on your chest.”  


Killian drew in a deep breath and pressed his shoulders more firmly into the back of his chair. Emma could tell her touch was driving him mad. She unzipped his waistcoat and slid her hands into his shirt, tugging open the buttons one by one. “They’ve even started showing up a bit lower,” she whispered, bending to drag the tip of her nose down the center of his stomach. His belly wasn’t as firm as in his youth, but it was tidy nonetheless. She placed a kiss just above his navel. He whimpered.  


“But for all of the signs that you’re finally aging after three hundred years,” Emma said after finishing her work on his belt and the fly of his jeans, “you haven’t lost an ounce of virility.” She stood to her full height once more. Killian leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her waist. His scruffy salt-and-pepper beard rubbed against her stomach as he kissed her hot, wanting flesh.   


“With a woman like you, never,” he spoke against her skin. A clink of metal-against-metal and a firm tug, and he’d removed her tight jeans, dropping them to the floor. Emma climbed up to hover over her husband’s waist, grinding her hips up against his.   


The routine of office lovemaking was well-rehearsed, but not at all stale. She moaned and leaned her head back, her long blonde ponytail swishing against her back as her body enveloped her husband’s strong, thick length. Killian groaned in response, pushing her shirt aside and tugging her bra down with his hook. Leaning forward, he grasped one of her nipples between his lips, pressing his hand down onto her hip as she moved.  


Emma wrapped her fingers back into his hair. She drew in deep breaths, her thumbs rolling against the silver hair at his temples. Each deep press of his cock inside of her hit all of the right places. Even from their first time, with fumbling hands, a scratch upon her hip (and an emphatic apology), and an overwhelming feeling of being rushed in her parents’ old loft, Killian Jones had always known how to please his wife. And boy, was she pleased.   


Killian’s hand moved from her hip and slid between her legs. He brushed his fingers against her clit, rolling his thumb against the sensitive nub in slow circles, timed with the motion of her delicious hips. “Swan,” he groaned as she made a positively filthy sort of growl in the back of her throat.   


“Fuck, Killian,” she whimpered and tugged at his hair, leaning down to cover his mouth with hers. Her tongue slid against his, pressing in slow strokes. He tasted like black coffee, toothpaste, and hint of sweetness from the bear claw he had devoured. Her thighs were burning, her hips aching, but Emma couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t. Not until she had achieved the sweet release toward which he was coaxing her. The fire in her belly was raging, so very close to its peak.  


With a flick of his thumb, Killian sent her tumbling over the edge. She whined in ecstacy and broke their kiss to gasp for air, riding out the waves of pulsing pleasure as they surged through her body. Killian grunted, his hand moving to clench her ass tightly as he spilled inside of her. Emma slowed to a stop, rocking ever-so-gently until she finally came to rest upon his lap. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his freckled shoulder. A smile was spread across her face, creasing around her eyes.   


“That...will never get old,” Killian muttered, sliding his hand over her back. “Not ever.”  


There was a pounding at the office’s exterior door. A gravelly, shouting voice sounded from the other side. “Are you CLOSED?! The Sheriff’s office doesn’t close!”  


“Grumpy,” they sighed in unison.   


“At least his timing’s gotten a little better,” Emma giggled. Killian gave her backside a firm whack with his open palm as he kissed her. No, certain things never would get old.  



End file.
